Jungle Eyes and Hometown Hero Lips
by surefirebackfire
Summary: Rorschach walks streets again, sign in hand. He passes a girl who is laughing. Anger is slowly finding it's way to rip from his lungs and burst out of his mouth.
1. Chapter 1

Rorschach's Journal, October 12th , 1984

_Saved a girl from vermin tonight-- seems to repeat like every other night in a hell hole for a city. Killed all of them. Pockets were full of roofies and poppers. Girl with bleeding nose and garish, smeared lipstick tried to kiss me. Broke her fingers. She cried all the colours and fake eyelashes off and bled on the pavement. Killed her. She was just like all the others. Whores are blending in with humans—can't tell the difference anymore._

_Impossible to want to sleep in a city where no one wakes up._

An obnoxious snort sent Rorschach out of his thoughts. A loud snicker is what brings his eyes to her. He is disgusted and wishes he hadn't laid his eyes on her in the first place. He merely glowers at her and continues to make his rounds; pacing through the festering wound he lived in for a city.

The next time he passed by her, she was still laughing. He gripped onto his "The End is Nigh" sign a little tighter and silently gnawed at the inside of his cheek. She is hunched over sitting on a pile of newspapers giggling at something from across the street. Her hand is placed over her lips and her eyes shut so that wrinkles peaked out from the corners.

He passed her again; still not catching on to what exactly was causing her to giggle childishly. She was playing stupid and attention-seeking; much like a prostitute who sniggers naively and flashes their grey, zombie flesh for all to see.

By the third time he passes her laughing figure, he has observed close to everything. Even after she pulled her hand away and sat up straight, an odd lop sided grin was still formed on her cracked lips. She was ugly, he noticed. Her eyes were too wide; too big to be doe-like, too mud brown to be considered unique or pretty. Her hair was matted, greasy, and messily cut just below her chin; an unnatural shade of faded orange tinted each knotted wave. She was cringe worthy skinny, flat chested, and at first glance could easily be mistaken as a teenage boy. The only hint that gave her away was the gaudy eye make up.He felt no ache or pity at the fact that as she was laughing, the world was really laughing at her.

He was almost certain that she was aware of his glaring. She smoothed out her shirt in her attempt to show off her bust, and tried her very hardest to flatten the edges of her unruly hair. Like a little girl playing dress up, this was an unattractive woman trying to be beautiful, it just looked forced and unnatural.

Racing thoughts flooded into Rorschach's mind as he continued to saunter. He was convinced by now that she was a whore or some sort of street scum. Perhaps she was simply laughing at children's pornography while trying to shape herself up for the next customer who'll create bruises on her thighs with their blood stained hands.

When his thoughts settled, Rorschach came to the conclusion that this pallid lion of a woman with alien eyes and crooked yellow teeth was purely another justification for him to detest this city.

He stopped walking. Her oversized doll eyes met his in a glance.

She smiled; her cheek bones too high, peeling lips too thin, pale skin coated in a layer of sweat. Disgusting. He didn't smile back.

After a moment of their dragged on staring contest, she peered back at what she was previously laughing at. Rorschach followed her gaze. The side of the train station was crowded by people, but just past them in huge green spray painted letters it read:

**I Watch The Watchmen.**

When he looked back for the animal-like girl, she was laughing again. He felt the anger claw at the inside of his mouth, ready to lash out in wild yells.

But if he hadn't stopped right then, he wouldn't have noticed the single quality that made this creature even mildly human. Much to his perplexity, a single tear rolled down her cheek and in her hand rested green spray paint.

I guess, even animals cry.


	2. Chapter 2

Rorschach's Journal, October 13th , 1984

_Girl wasn't at newspaper stand this morning. Thought she was arrested—she was outside of a freshly washed train station. The city tries to disguise any who differ from the status quo. She isn't laughing today, only grinning while she picks bodily fluids from last night's events out from under her nails She flashes yellow teeth and rouge lips when I pass.. Unsure if she recognizes me. She is amused by my sign and my mask less scowl; whores live off of their own twisted humour. Tries to sell me a magazine of grime ridden information on liars and supposed saints. Don't buy it. She laughs like a hyena._

Rorschach was alive. Now that it was night, and he no longer walked the city with a sign and Kovac's face shown to the world, he could breathe again.

He found a boy with his head in a garbage can, throwing up his last meal. He does not disturb him, just watches, faintly interested in what he'll do next.

After he coughed up the last bit of something, he lifts his head, releasing a guttural laugh as he wipes the residue of his insides upon his overlarge sweater.

"I know you're there." The boy muttered, picking up his club on which nails jutted out of it in all directions.

Rorschach does not flinch; he only bit back the urge to lunge at him, possibly beating the boy with his own weapon. Rorschach found the boy rather comedic, such a young age, strutting about as if he were immune to the city's contagious disease of indecency. Perhaps the boy assumed the city would take pity on him, or he was ready for danger. Rorschach would show him danger. If the boy lived and grew, he would end up like all the rest of them. He was the new generation.

"Come out; come out wherever you are…" The boy cooed at the shadows, his eyes skimmed over the area on which Rorschach stood.

Rorschach did not move. He refused to give into the boy's pathetic ways, but he still felt his gloves tighten and loosen, egging him to follow his instinct. He could either frighten the boy so much he might never leave his home again, or kill him. Either way the boy would end up as a monster, a monster like him; afraid of his front door or his own front steps.

"Come on, you cow—"

Rorschach pounced at the boy; slamming him to the ground with such force he heard a defined crack as his skull hit the concrete.

"Fuck!" The boy gasped in between heated breaths.

A pool of blood began to paint the sidewalk.

Rorschach had now pinned down the boy's mangled arms with his knees, while his gloved hands had taken a hold of the young man's neck. There was no way the monster for an adolescent could move now as his blood spilled out onto the pavement.

The moonlight lit the crimson liquid enough that Rorschach could spot his own reflection. He was how he always was; ever-changing face, fedora, trench coat and an obvious uneasy look a bout him. As he planted himself on top of the boy he had realized the irony of the situation, the two were yin and yang. The two opposites were what made the city thrive; yet they remained so similar at heart. They both had demons. We all have—

Rorschach's thoughts slid to a halt as he observed the reflection more carefully. In his mirror image a pair of doe eyes gazed back up at him with the most transparent fright in them. You couldn't forget those eyes; jungle eyes.

Without much thought, Rorschach leapt up from his position and fled, leaving the mistaken female to be surrounded in her own blood.

In the silence of the alley, Daisy rolled over slowly, letting the red liquid soak the side of her face. She tried very hard to ignore the throbbing pain of her broken arms and the raw memories.

Daisy closed her jungle eyes.

As the sun rose over another night in a sleepless city, someone steps into an alley and finds a contorted girl covered in puke, blood. The walls were covered in obnoxious green words and the floor with needles. Someone checks her pockets, wallet, and then her pulse.

She wasn't dead, just waiting.


End file.
